


Love Me at Once, the Way You Did Once...

by servecobwebheadaches



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Drama, Homophobia, M/M, Mpreg, gender norms don't exist because I said so, married!ryden, oh the drama!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-06-28 00:33:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15696546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servecobwebheadaches/pseuds/servecobwebheadaches
Summary: Ryan and Brendon have been happily married for four years and are ecstatic that their first baby is on the way.  Ryan's life is full of doting on his pregnant husband and preparing for fatherhood when a mere dizzy spell of Brendon's sets their life back about a decade.  The last trimester of Brendon's pregnancy brings way more changes to Ryan's world than he ever expected—or wanted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [just_folie_a_deux_it](https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_folie_a_deux_it/gifts).



> New fic!!! I never thought I would be writing mpreg but here I am. This fic actually started bc I had a dream where Brendon was pregnant and wearing a black dress, then the plot just tumbled out. I hope you like it!!

Even after all the time that Ryan was in one of the most famous, highest-grossing bands in the world, it was still easy for him to go around in public without being recognized; he was never afraid to leave home by himself, was never made uncomfortable by paparazzi waiting outside his car to snap pictures of him, never bombarded by an overwhelming amount of fans at the mall or a café.  It made sense, he supposed, as he wasn’t the frontman, lead singer, or the most attractive man alive.

 

For his husband, on the other hand, it was an entirely different story.  Brendon  _ was _ the frontman, lead singer, and most attractive man alive.  Often times, he couldn’t make it fifteen minutes out the front door without being stopped for an autograph or pictures.  Ryan would have rather sequestered himself away than to have that kind of attention on him at all times, but Brendon thrived in the spotlight.  He was great at handling it, always radiating cheerfulness and charisma, no matter what kind of day he was having in private. On any given day Brendon’s relationship with the fans was good, but it truly flowed seamlessly when he had someone to accompany him in public.  That could be Ryan, to pull Brendon away from a situation when it seemed too suffocating, or a professional bodyguard, such as Zack, there to step in when fans got out of hand.

 

However, it wasn’t wise for Brendon to leave his and Ryan’s apartment alone, especially not after the news broke that Brendon was pregnant.

 

Which was exactly why Ryan slipped out early in the morning—while Brendon was still sound asleep— to pick up a few things at the grocery store.  Brendon didn’t need the stress of going out in public, not with his weakened immune system and the unfortunately predictable harassment from complete strangers.  Shopping was easy enough for Ryan, especially this trip, as he was only picking up a few simple things. Regardless, traffic was awful, and with the early hour Ryan had awoken, he was more than sleepy by the time he arrived back home.

 

He leaned against the wall, eyes shut as the elevator rode up to the 21st floor on which he and Brendon resided.  Their apartment overlooking Los Angeles was perfect, and Ryan was always happy to come home to it. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a wall made of windows that gave them a fantastic view of the city—it was wonderful when they picked it out years ago, and was wonderful now that they were expecting a new baby.  While contemporary upon moving in, the apartment was cozy now, personalized with the mixture of Brendon’s and his own separate taste in decor. The baby-proofing that had been done recently was another addition to the domestic haven that was their home. Before walking in, Ryan found himself daydreaming of crawling in bed with Brendon, sleeping the rest of the morning away.

 

Brendon was already awake, of course, by the time Ryan walked in the door.  Too much of the morning had gone by for him to still be asleep. Ryan was greeted with the sound of running water and Brendon’s voice, echoey but powerful, as he sang in the shower.  It felt like home, exactly where Ryan wanted to spend the rest of his day, and his entire life. Brendon was singing something new, one of the current radio hits. A Rihanna song, Ryan thought.  Ryan put away the few groceries he had picked up, eyelids drooping now that he was within the comfort of his surroundings. He couldn’t wait to convince Brendon to curl up with him so he could take a nap.

 

He made his way back to their bedroom just as Brendon was stepping out of the shower.  His husband’s eyes were a bright brown, his full, kissable lips slightly parted. Recently, he had grown pale, his shoulders slumped, purple circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days.  Pregnancy was taking a toll on him—he was fatigued and seemed almost fragile these days, but happy nonetheless. 

 

“Good morning, beautiful,” Ryan said.

 

Brendon’s entire face lit up with a smile. “Morning, baby,” He replied.  

 

Ryan watched him towel his hair, succeeding in making it stick up messily in every direction.  Adorable. He leaned in to press a brief kiss to Brendon’s lips. “How are you feeling today?” 

 

“Good, pretty good.  Even though you left me this morning and didn’t even kiss me goodbye,” Brendon said, pouting.

 

“I’m sorry; I didn’t want to wake you,” Ryan apologized.

 

“It’s okay.  The sleep was nice,” Brendon said.

 

Ryan smiled, resting his forehead against Brendon’s.  “And how’s our little girl?” Ryan asked, practically cooing as he placed his hands on the perfect curve of Brendon’s belly.

 

“Big,” Brendon said.  “She must be tall and lanky, like you, because I keep feeling these long legs kicking at me.”

 

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

 

“No, no, it’s just a little strange.”

 

Ryan knew that if he kept his hands right where they were, he would eventually be able to feel exactly what Brendon was talking about, but he pulled away to instead stifle a yawn.

 

“What do you think about putting pajamas back on and coming to bed with me?” Ryan asked.

 

“No way.  We’ve got shopping to do,” Brendon said.  He stepped away from Ryan to continue getting ready, disappearing around the corner into their bedroom.

 

“I just got home from the store,” Ryan protested.

 

“I mean shopping for the nursery.  I want to look at more paint ideas and color palettes.”

 

“But we had the nursery painted lavender last week.”

 

“Yeah . . . I don’t know about that anymore.  I think I might want something yellow instead.”

 

Ryan thought about it for a moment.  Yellow could be nice, he supposed. “Okay.  We’ll go look,” Ryan said, abandoning his hope for more sleep in favor of appeasing Brendon.

 

“Will you zip me up?” Brendon asked, returning to Ryan.  He faced the mirror, back to Ryan, head bowed expectantly for Ryan to pull the gaping zipper closed.  Ryan was surprised to see what he was wearing: a brand new black dress that stopped just above his knees.  He pulled the tag from the maternity store off of a seam after zipping it up, and gazed at his and Brendon’s reflections in the mirror.

 

“You’re all dressed up,” Ryan commented.

 

Brendon shrugged.  “It just seems more comfortable than pants today.”

 

“Well, you look very pretty,” Ryan said.

 

“That’s sweet of you,” Brendon said.  He turned to the side, smoothing the soft fabric of the dress over his middle, and bit his lower lip.  “I thought black was supposed to be slimming.”

 

Ryan rushed to comfort Brendon before he could really begin to feel bad.  “You’re stunning, B. But you’re six months pregnant, babe, you can’t expect yourself to look the same as you did before.”

 

Brendon sighed.  “I know, I know. Pregnancy is just . . . harder than I thought it would be sometimes, you know?”

 

Ryan cupped Brendon’s face in his hands, his stubble pricking delicately at Ryan’s palms.  “You’re doing great, my love. It’ll all be worth it soon, won’t it?”

 

Brendon managed a hint of a smile.  “Yeah. Three months feels like so long, though, and I’m so tired all the time, and I keep craving all these weird things, and I miss my favorite pair of jeans.”  He huffed, lips curving down into a heart-melting pout.

 

“Oh, sweetheart, it’ll all be okay.  I love you,” Ryan tried.

 

“I love you, too,” Brendon said, but it was dejected and sad.  He turned away once more to continue his morning routine, putting product in his hair to style it.

 

“Do you want breakfast before we go?  I picked up more eggs this morning,” Ryan offered.

 

“I don’t know.  Maybe. Did you pick up sauerkraut while you were out?”

 

“Sauerkraut?  No, no I didn’t.”

 

“Oh.  I really wanted sauerkraut.  Remember? Last night, at dinner?”

 

Ryan remembered Brendon mentioning it the night before, but it was far too late to matter.  “I totally forgot, B, I’m sorry.”

 

“ ‘Kay,” was all Brendon said.  Ryan watched him stare down at the sink, unmoving, just standing there and sulking for a moment.

 

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked, concerned.

 

“Yeah.  I just thought you would remember when I wanted something.”

 

Ryan’s eyebrows furrowed at Brendon’s apparent disappointment in him.  “I bought you that cheesecake you wanted the other day. Do you want some of that?”

 

Brendon shook his head, wrinkling his nose.  “That sounds awful today. I really want a roast beef sandwich with sauerkraut.”

 

“We can go buy some right now,” Ryan said.  He felt pangs of guilt in his chest, and was overwhelmed by the urge to make Brendon feel better.

 

“No, it doesn’t matter.”

 

“But if you want it—”

 

“I just wish you had brought it home.  Especially because I told you last night.”

 

“I’m sorry, B, really.”

 

“I—just—I’m so irritated and I feel like you’re not even doing anything to help me!” Brendon suddenly exploded.

 

It was quiet for a moment before Ryan said, “What?”  Confusion coursed through him, leaving him feeling cold and uneasy.

 

“I feel like shit, and I’m hungry, and there’s only one thing I want— _ one fucking thing _ —and I can’t even have it, because you didn’t care enough to remember!”

 

Ryan couldn’t even begin to argue with him; first, Brendon was being completely unreasonable and any sort of protest would probably be a mistake on Ryan’s part, but also, Ryan was too in shock.  “Let’s just run back to the store, okay? Or, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, I’ll just go really quick and be right back.”

 

“Why are you so set on  _ leaving me  _ today?  I feel so alone, and you don’t understand anything I’m going through, not that you even try, and—and I have to do everything for myself!  I just want some help from my  _ husband _ , but apparently that’s too much to ask!”

 

Ryan stared blankly at Brendon, whose cheeks had gone red with anger.  He was entirely baffled by this outburst from Brendon, and had no idea how to make it better.  Ever since Brendon got pregnant, Ryan had been trying his best to dote on Brendon constantly, make sure he didn’t have to do any more work than he had to.  Ryan wanted Brendon’s top priority to be staying healthy and stress-free, and Ryan would do anything to help him with that. The only thing Ryan could think to do in the moment was ask, “Brendon, where is this coming from?”

 

“You forgetting to say goodbye to me this morning, and then forgetting to buy the things I wanted, and it’s like you’re not even listening to me, like you have something more important to be thinking about.”

 

Ryan shook his head at Brendon’s accusations.  “You’re the most important thing to me. You know that.”

 

“It seems like you’re trying to make me think something different,” Brendon said flatly.

 

“I mean it,” Ryan insisted.  If he looked closely enough, he could see tears in Brendon’s eyes.  Brendon had his head down to try to hide it, and was on the move, picking up his cell phone and wallet.

 

“I’m gonna go buy paint or something.  And maybe lunch,” Brendon muttered, reaching for the handle of the front door.

 

“Wait a minute, hang on, I’ll go get keys,” Ryan said.

 

“No.  I’ll walk.  It’s just a couple blocks.  You don’t even want to go out,” Brendon said, and was out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

Ryan exhaled heavily.  He knew, rationally, that he hadn’t done anything to deserve Brendon shouting at him like that, but he still felt tormented with guilt all the same.  Brendon’s hormones may have just been particularly off kilter, and it all got to his head. Ryan just wanted Brendon to be happy. His mood was significantly dampened, and he sunk down on the couch.  It was very rare for Brendon to be upset with him and Ryan to not be just as angry right back at him. They were never mad at each other for long, though—Ryan couldn’t stand being distant from Brendon.

 

This was almost worse than when they had full fights with each other, because Ryan wasn’t even mad at Brendon for anything.  All Ryan felt was a sense of helplessness to go along with his heavy heart.

 

The sounds of the city below the apartment were mind-numbing, and Ryan was in the mood to hear some sad music, so he got up to look through his and Brendon’s record collection to find something to play.  With Brendon around, the apartment was never this quiet, and Ryan found that it was too quiet to be comfortable. He thought he had gotten used to the sound of constant traffic since they’d moved in, but now with it being the only thing to fill the silence, it bothered him.

 

He was mindlessly looking through their Beatles records, then Queen, Tom Waits, and so on when he heard the sirens of some emergency vehicle getting closer.  The noise grew increasingly louder and more annoying to the point Ryan thought it may be coming from the street directly in front of the apartment building. After a few moments, the sirens didn’t seem to be getting any closer or any more distant.  Even from twenty one floors up, Ryan took in that whatever vehicle had the sirens blaring must have been stopped right outside the building in which he lived. He wondered if someone was getting arrested for trying to break in, or something along those lines, as was most likely.

 

Out of curiosity, he crossed the apartment to look out the wall of windows in the living room.  If he looked down, he could see the street and sidewalk below. To his surprise, there weren’t any police cars on the street below.  Instead, there was a single ambulance with the back doors swung open and a small crowd of people surrounding it. Ryan saw medics carrying a gurney through the crowd, back in the direction of the ambulance, and he squinted to see what the situation was.

 

Ryan could have sworn his heart stopped in his chest as his eyes focused on the person getting taken into the ambulance.  He recognized that black dress all too well. That was Brendon down there, his Brendon, and Ryan’s brain short-circuited as he stared down at the scene below.  As soon as he felt he wasn’t paralyzed with fear anymore, he bolted out of the apartment in a frenzy, not even closing the door behind him.

 

Ryan had never been so scared in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Within a single moment, all of Ryan’s petty concerns had completely melted away.  He sat stiffly in the chair of an entirely unfamiliar hospital room with an all-too-familiar hand clutched between both of his, constantly being reminded of the anxiety he felt.  His eyes kept traveling from the floor to Brendon’s angelic face, and all he could think about was the moment when he would be able to see those beautiful chocolate eyes staring back at him.

 

Any moment now, Brendon would wake up, and Ryan would feel some form of peace within himself again.

 

A few hours ago, Ryan wasn’t sure he would ever be anywhere near calm again.  He had run down twenty-one flights of stairs—convinced it would be faster than the elevator—and hopped in his car to chase the ambulance to the nearest hospital.  Looking back, his driving was entirely reckless between the speeding and running of red lights and the cutting cars off, but who could blame him? His entire world had been in that ambulance, and LA traffic be damned if he wasn’t going to make it to the hospital just in time to watch Brendon get rushed in.

 

Everyone at the hospital who he questioned demandingly was gentle and kind.  They answered him with as much information as they could, and allowed Ryan to see Brendon in his unconscious state as soon as they had him in a room.

 

Ryan had learned over the next hour or so that several people walking down the street had seen Brendon, called for help, and described what had happened to the first medics who arrived.  The story was that Brendon had been walking along, stumbled for a moment as if overcome by dizziness, and fainted right there on the sidewalk. Nothing had broken his fall, so his head hit the concrete fairly hard, knocking him out for much longer than a mere dizzy spell would have.

 

A doctor told Ryan that fainting wasn’t too uncommon during pregnancy, especially if Brendon was under any type of emotional stress.  Fainting like Brendon had wouldn’t affect the baby at all, which alleviated a portion of Ryan’s worrying. Brendon, however, had definitely suffered a head injury, and no matter how minor the doctors said it was, Ryan couldn’t help but be scared it was worse than they thought.

 

Nothing like this had ever happened to Brendon before.  He never fainted, and was never admitted to a hospital, let alone while carrying their unborn child.  Ryan needed the comfort of Brendon waking up, assuring him he was okay, and coming back home where they belonged together.  Brendon’s brain activity showed that he was only lightly unconscious, almost like being asleep, so everyone Ryan asked was sure he would wake up at any time now.

 

While it really didn’t take long for Brendon to begin to stir, it felt like days had passed to Ryan.  With one of Brendon’s smaller hands enveloped in both of Ryan’s, Ryan thumbed over Brendon’s knuckles, stroking the smooth skin, hoping for the comfort to reach Brendon’s brain before he fully awoke.  Brendon groaned quietly, turning his head to one side, giving Ryan a full view of his eyelids slowly rising.

 

Brendon blearily looked at him, and Ryan smiled so wide his cheeks hurt.  “Hi, sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re awake,” Ryan said.

 

At those words, Brendon blinked a few times before his eyes darted around the room, wide and disoriented.  He tugged his hand out of Ryan’s grasp to support himself as he lifted his head. He squinted when he looked back at Ryan. “Ryan?  Where are we?”

 

“We’re at the hospital, B, but it’s okay.  Let me go get a nurse or something,” Ryan said, standing.  Brendon just flopped back down on the pillows, as if it was way too difficult to fully sit up.

 

He found someone quickly enough, simply telling the staff at the nearby nurse station that Brendon was awake.  One of the nurses followed Ryan back to Brendon’s room with some paperwork, a clipboard, and a pen.

 

“I just have a few questions to ask him, but he’ll most likely be okay to go home after that,” she explained to Ryan.

 

“What questions?”

 

“Just a few basic things to scope out the severity of his brain trauma.  Any head injury might make someone act a little bit out of character, so we just want to make sure it’s nothing too serious.”

 

Any solace Ryan had found in Brendon waking up was starting to slip from his grasp.  “But they said he only has a minor concussion, at most,” Ryan said.

 

“It’s just a last exam before we can release him.”

 

Ryan’s mood lightened slightly at the idea of going home with Brendon again, and he managed to nod before following the nurse into Brendon’s hospital room.  Upon the door opening, Brendon turned his head to the side to see them from where he had been staring up at the ceiling. His eyes were wide and full of confusion, looking at them from the hospital bed.  Ryan tried to smile at him, in an instinctual attempt to soothe his apparent anxiety, but Brendon never focused on his face long enough.

 

“Hello, my name is Karen, I’m a nurse here at the community hospital, and I’m just here to check up on you,” the nurse said to Brendon.

 

“Wh-what happened to me? Why am I here?” Brendon asked.

 

“You’ve just suffered a minor head injury.  Now, can you tell me your pain level, on a scale of one to ten?”

 

Still laying down, Brendon brought a hand up to his temple.  “A one or a two, I guess.”

 

“That’s good.  Very good,” Karen said, jotting Brendon’s answer down.  “And can you tell me who the president is?”

 

A hint of a smile toyed at Brendon’s lips, as if he was amused at being asked a question with such an obvious answer.  “George W. Bush is president,” he claimed.

 

Ryan’s stomach dropped.  “Brendon—” Ryan started to say, ready to question Brendon’s well-being himself, but the nurse standing beside him held up a hand to interrupt.

 

“Barack Obama is our president, Mr. Ross,” Karen said, voice taking on a gentler tone.

 

Brendon suddenly pushed himself up on his elbows to look at Karen more closely.  “Ross?” Brendon repeated. “Are you sure you’re in the right room?”

 

Ryan wasn’t feeling too steady on his feet anymore, and he stepped back to lean against the wall.

 

Karen looked down at her clipboard and papers, blinking in surprise at Brendon’s question, and said, “I believe so.  Your name is Brendon—Brendon Ross, is that correct?”

 

Brendon glanced over at Ryan for a split second, then resumed his intent stare at the nurse.  He shook his head. “No, no, my name’s Brendon  _ Urie _ , not—not  _ Ross _ —”

 

Ryan’s eyes flicked over to the open door, the idea of leaving crossing his mind, to get out, knowing something was very, very wrong here, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

 

Karen flipped to another page, adjusting her clipboard.  She seemed so calm, composed, though Ryan couldn’t comprehend how she possibly could be at this moment.

 

“What is the date today?” She asked Brendon.

 

“October . . . um, October third?”

 

October wasn’t for another three months.

 

“And the year?”

 

“It’s 2004,” Brendon said.  Karen wrote that down as well.  “That is right, isn’t it?” Brendon asked, like he wasn’t so sure anymore.  Nobody answered him. Karen was busy writing something down, and Ryan didn’t know if he was supposed to speak at all or not.  “Well? What is the date?” Brendon demanded after a few moments of silence.

 

“It’s the sixth of July, 2014,” Ryan quietly said.

 

Brendon’s head swiveled to look at Ryan.  Anyone might have seen Brendon and thought he was furious at something, but Ryan knew how to read him better.  His irritated tone was just a mask for the fear he was feeling, as was normal for when Brendon was nervous or vulnerable. What was different here was that Ryan couldn’t even begin to provide any sort of comfort.

 

“Why are you here?” Brendon asked, as though the idea of Ryan—his husband—being with him in the hospital was absurd.

 

“He’s your emergency contact,” Karen said.

 

The statement was true, and Ryan was grateful for it, because all of a sudden, he had no idea how to talk to Brendon.  Karen’s words only seemed to upset Brendon more, however.

 

“But—but where’s my mom and dad?” He cried.  “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on—?”  Brendon cut himself off with a sharp inhale, both his hands flying to his stomach.  His body jolted as he looked down, and upon seeing his prominent baby bump, promptly fainted back onto the pillows of the hospital bed.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

The baby was perfectly fine, just like before.  She had probably just moved around for the first time since Brendon awoke, and gave him the startle of a lifetime.

 

Additional doctors came to speak with Ryan while Brendon was unconscious again, to try to ease his confusion and downright terror with answers to all of his questions.

 

Immediately after a head injury, it was common for patients to have lapses in memory.  For instance, they might not remember the exact events leading up to the injury, or even the entire day before the injury occurred.  This was to be expected. Brendon’s case was different, according to each and every medical professional Ryan spoke with. What Brendon was experiencing was called retrograde amnesia, which only raised more questions than it answered.

 

Ryan knew what amnesia was, of course.  He didn’t need it explained to him that Brendon wasn’t remembering things from his past.  It took a lot of extra processing, though, for Ryan to fully realize exactly what Brendon had forgotten.

 

Brendon remembered all the basic skills of life, like talking and reading, and he should be able to form new memories, but so many other things were missing.  As Ryan understood it, Brendon had basically been reset to thinking it was ten years ago. At the moment, he didn’t remember anything after the date in 2004 he had given when he awoke.  Ryan could almost understand that meant Brendon really thought it was fall of 2004, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around Brendon not remembering his career, their marriage, or even having  no recollection of being pregnant. That simply couldn’t happen.

 

Yet that was the situation.  The doctors told Ryan not to worry too much now, because Brendon’s memory loss would most likely be reversed within a few hours of him waking up again.  He might even wake up again and it could be like he had never even hit his head in the first place.

 

Ryan hoped he wasn’t being too much of a pessimist when his mind inevitably wandered to the worst case scenario of Brendon staying mentally stuck in 2004.  The idea lingered in Ryan’s head, and he couldn’t help but reflect on what their lives had been like back then. Ryan had only just started his first year of college, and Brendon with his senior year of high school.  At the date Brendon had given, they would have only met a handful of times, with Brendon having just joined the band to play guitar.

 

When Brendon had woken up in the hospital room to the sight of Ryan beside him, it made sense for him to be confused and distant.  Ryan was ready to take care of his husband and smother Brendon in the affection he so adored receiving, but in Brendon’s current state of mind, Ryan was practically a stranger.

 

That wasn’t something Ryan could just adjust to in a few moments.

 

Back ten years ago, Brendon wasn’t in love with Ryan, and Ryan hadn’t known he was going to fall for the other boy, either.  Brendon hadn’t ever fallen in love at all. The Brendon who Ryan had met a decade ago was loyal to his parents, and by extension the Mormon faith, above all things.  Besides music, perhaps.

 

Life had changed vastly for them since then, and Ryan wasn’t blind to the changes that had come to both of them as people as well.  Brendon had grown up rapidly in the whirlwind that was leaving the church, his family forcibly cutting ties with him, and getting signed to a label with the band.  Ryan was there the whole time, he saw it happen, but none of it mattered now if Brendon couldn’t remember, all that experience gone to him, wiped away as if it never—

 

“Ryan Ross?”

 

Ryan looked up from where he had been intently staring at the floor of a waiting room.  The same nurse from earlier—Karen—stood before him, staring at him with curiosity and an expectation for him to respond.

 

”Is he awake?” Ryan immediately asked, as he stood up to follow Karen out of the room.  He thought of the possibility of seeing Brendon’s warm smile, of normalcy being restored, just slightly too full of hope for the situation at hand.

 

Karen nodded.  “Yes, Mr. Urie is awake.  He’s just requested to have you visit.”

 

Ryan mentally flinched at the use of Brendon’s old last name.  Brendon had been so eager to change it when they got married, and he always seemed to light up when he could sign his name ‘Brendon Ross.’  Having strangers call him by that name was something that would usually make him happy, but now he was insisting on just the opposite, claiming that it wasn’t his name at all.  Ryan couldn’t fathom it.

 

Brendon was alone in the hospital room when Ryan entered, and Karen left him on his own.  Propped up in bed, Brendon was wide awake. Ryan was nervous to talk to him all over again.

 

“Hello,” Brendon said, toneless, expression blank.

 

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Ryan knew the memories hadn’t come back to Brendon, just from the way Brendon was looking at him.

 

Ryan was cautious to speak, but felt brave enough to say, “Hi,” before falling silent.

 

“You should sit down,” Brendon said, glancing over at the chair in the room.  Ryan obeyed, but didn’t move to be any closer to Brendon as he wanted to do. “Some doctors came to talk to me, just now, before you,” Brendon said.

 

A few beats of silence passed before Ryan broke it.  “What did they say?”

 

“They talked to me about the baby.  And said that I fainted and hit my head so I don’t remember a lot of . . . stuff that happened,” Brendon said.

 

Ryan clenched his jaw and avoided looking at Brendon.

 

“They also said you’re my husband.  Is that true?” Brendon continued.

 

Ryan nodded.

 

“So it’s—it’s yours?  The baby, I mean,” Brendon said.

 

Ryan nodded again.

 

“And how long have we . . .?”

 

“We’ve been married for four years,” Ryan said, and cleared his throat.

 

“I don’t remember anything,” Brendon whispered.  He was looking down at his hands as if there were something wrong with them, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide.  It must’ve been his wedding ring that had his attention, Ryan realized.

 

Ryan was hit with a new negative emotion: pity.  He couldn’t imagine how distressing it would be to wake up and not remember the past ten years of his life.  Yet here Brendon was, experiencing it, and Ryan didn’t know how to help him.

 

“Did the doctors tell you anything else?” Ryan asked.

 

“They said that my memories could come back, but that they might not either.  And that there’s not really much they can do to help because I’m fine, I guess.  So I can go home,” Brendon said. Whenever Ryan dared to look at him, Brendon averted eye contact.  He kept twisting his fingers around each other, seeming twitchy. If it had been a day earlier, Ryan would have simply reached out to hold his hands, to still him and to calm him.  Now, though, he knew he wasn’t really allowed to.

 

“Home?” Ryan repeated.  “You’re ready to go home?”

 

“I—I don’t know where home is, and I’m not ready to—to live with you, or be married, or have a baby, I’m just—I don’t know what to do,” Brendon said.  His voice was strained, like he was about to start crying, and it hurt Ryan just to hear it.

 

Ryan had this odd sensation in his chest where his rib cage felt too tight for how hard his heart was suddenly beating.  “We live together, in an apartment. In LA. You picked it out yourself,” Ryan said.

 

“I don’t know if I should go back home with you.  I mean, maybe it would help me remember, but I—I have no idea what it’s like there, or—or what  _ you’re  _ like, and I just—I’m sorry, I’m honestly really freaking out.  Have you called my parents? Are they coming? Because I want to see them, maybe it would be good if I stayed with them until—I don’t know when, I—” Brendon stopped rambling and looked at Ryan directly.

 

Brendon, clearly, didn’t remember anything what happened with his family, why they stopped talking to him, or any of the things that had been said between them.  It was complicated and always made Brendon emotional to talk about, so he rarely did. Ryan couldn’t remember a time Brendon brought up the topic of his parents since they’d been married.  With Brendon in front of him, ignorant to any of the pain he had gone through since he announced he was leaving the church, Ryan didn’t know how to break it to him.

 

“I haven’t called your parents,” was all Ryan said, but that didn’t suffice.  All it did was anger Brendon.

 

“Why not?  My mom will kill me if she finds out I was in the hospital and didn’t tell her.  Wouldn’t she expect my—my husband to call her?”

 

Ryan shook his head and gulped.

 

“What, did something horrible happen in the past ten years?” Brendon asked, incredulous.

 

“Well, kinda, yeah.”

 

Brendon’s breathing was shallow, and he was back to staring down at his hands.  “Are they dead?” He asked quietly.

 

“No, no, B, it’s nothing like that.  You just . . . don’t really talk to them anymore,” Ryan said, trying to be as gentle as possible about it.

 

“I—I don’t think I want to know why yet,” Brendon said.  His voice cracked, and Ryan’s heart shattered into bits in his chest.  Brendon buried his face in his hands, curled in on himself. Ryan wanted nothing more than to wrap an arm around him, kiss his temple, and tell him how much he loved him.  Before, that was a sure way to begin to soothe Brendon. Now it would be useless and unappreciated.

 

“Brendon . . .” Ryan began, full of the need to comfort his husband, but didn’t know what to say.

 

“I still want to call them.  I can’t remember living on my own at all, and my parents love me, I know they do, they would want to know if I was injured, and that—that my baby is okay,” Brendon said.  He paused, placing a hand on his stomach. “They do know I’m pregnant, right?”

 

“No,” Ryan said, and he truly believed it was better that way.  From the things Brendon had told him about his parents, Ryan deduced that he didn’t want their daughter growing up around those people.  The thought of Brendon contacting them again made his stomach twist, especially since Ryan was there the last time Brendon had called them and had heard the horrible things they said.

 

“It must have been really bad,” Brendon remarked.

 

The room was silent for a moment, even though Ryan had a million questions floating around his head.  Brendon must have had even more. Brendon, apparently, took the moment to compose himself, as his voice was steady when he asked Ryan his next question.

 

“Do I have my own car now?”

 

Ryan could have laughed at how young Brendon sounded, but it only made him feel even worse.  “Yeah, of course you do, it’s at home,” Ryan said.

 

Brendon nodded and took in that bit of information.  “I—I think that maybe it would be good for me to just take that and go somewhere else, maybe get a hotel room for a few days . . .”

 

“By yourself?”

 

Brendon bit his lip.  “Well, yeah, I don’t know what else to do.”

 

“Come back home.  With me. To our apartment.  It’s, um, pretty big, there’s enough room for you to have your own space, if that’s what you want, uh—”  Ryan ached at the idea of having to ask Brendon to stay with him, and didn’t want to have to convince with him anymore.  “You just shouldn’t be out by yourself, B . . . after everything that’s happened.”

 

Brendon didn’t ask for elaboration, thankfully.  The boy in front of Ryan didn’t know of his own celebrity status, didn’t know anything about his career, how successful the band was.  How successful he was. Ryan couldn’t even begin to think how he was going to explain everything that had happened in ten years to Brendon.

 

“The doctors said it might help me to be around things that would trigger memories, so I guess it would make sense for me to go with you, but—but I’m scared, I don’t really know anything about you, or about myself!  This feels like some kind of bad dream or something!” Brendon cried.

 

Ryan knew the feeling.  It was absolutely nightmarish to think of Brendon being  _ scared _ to go home with him.  He stayed as calm as he could, all the same.

 

“I’m going to help you as much as I can, okay?  I know you, I know a lot about you, and I’ll tell you anything you want.  How does that sound?” Ryan asked.

 

“Okay, I’ll stay with you for awhile.  I mean, I trusted you before, didn’t I?”

 

“Yeah, you did,” Ryan said, and touched his own wedding ring to easily remind himself of that time.  It really was only yesterday.


	3. Chapter 3

Brendon was skeptical and questioning of everything in his surroundings—any new topic that happened to be brought up was met with deliberation and obvious anxiety.  Before leaving the hospital, staff handed over Brendon’s clothes and the personal possessions he had with him when he was brought in, tasking Ryan with presenting the items to him.  His clothes, his wallet, his phone, and a pair of shoes—not much, really, but Ryan was nervous at the thought of how Brendon would react to them. When he went back to Brendon’s room, he found Brendon standing there in his hospital gown, looking expectant.

 

Ryan set the phone and wallet down and held out the dress and the shoes.  “This is just what you were wearing before,” Ryan explained.

 

Brendon stared at the clothing with wide eyes, making no move to take it from Ryan.  “You’re kidding, right?” 

 

Ryan looked at his hands as if to make sure he was, in fact, holding the right clothes,  “Uh, n-no, this is yours.”

 

Hesitantly, Brendon reached for the dress and shoes, examining them when Ryan handed them over.  “A dress, and—is that Gucci?—Gucci shoes? I would never wear this, I couldn’t even afford . . .”

 

Ten years ago, Ryan supposed, Brendon wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing a dress.  It was a stretch to even get him to wear eyeliner onstage, at first. And as for the shoes . . . well, Brendon had the same black Gucci loafers in blue at home, and another pair in leopard print. They were some of his favorite.

 

“We can afford whatever shoes you want now,” Ryan said.  “They’re very nice.”

 

He looked down and shook his head.  “This can’t be real. Don’t I have, like, a pair of jeans or something?  I can’t just walk out of here in a dress—”

 

Ryan tried to consider Brendon’s options for him.  “You have a lot of other clothes at home, I can go pick up something for you if you really want, it’ll just be about an hour, but jeans haven’t been, uh, comfortable for you lately, so.”

 

“So I wear dresses now?” Brendon asked.

 

“Sometimes.”

 

“What happened to me?” He asked incredulously.

 

_ You stopped caring what other people think _ , Ryan wanted to say, but bit his tongue.  Brendon was acting like it was the worst thing imaginable to wear a dress, to break the norm, as if he didn’t do that type of thing all the time.  Maybe he was back in the mindset that his parents had raised him to believe—that he was supposed to act and live traditionally, be a dedicated, conservative Mormon his whole life—but Ryan never knew him to think like that.  He was always rebelling, always disagreeing with what he was told at home and at church, even if it took him time to shake that set of ideals.

 

Ryan felt nauseous to think what an eighteen year old Brendon would have thought of being married to another man, and he tried to push that concept to the back of his mind to deal with later.

 

Ryan’s silence seemed to give Brendon time to think for himself on the clothing issue at hand.  “No one will really see me, will they? We’re just going home, right?”

 

“Yeah, it’ll just be me,” Ryan said.

 

Brendon took a deep breath and looked back at the dress.  “Okay,” he said, “I’ll just go change, then, and we can leave.”

 

“Good,” Ryan said.  He stood there awkwardly for a moment, hands in his pockets, waiting for Brendon to follow through.  Brendon backed away by a couple steps, glancing at the door behind them. “Oh, right,” Ryan mumbled, taking his cue to give Brendon his privacy.

 

<<<<<>>>>>

 

On the ride home, Brendon spent his time examining both his phone and wallet as if they were foreign objects he had never seen before.  Brendon took apart his wallet beside Ryan, taking time to study all of its contents. He spent particularly long looking over his driver’s license and the wedding photo of himself and Ryan that he carried with him everywhere.  Ryan repeatedly glanced over at him, expecting Brendon to spout a stream of questions, about himself, about their marriage; anything. Yet he stayed uncharacteristically silent, only staring down at the picture of both of them smiling brightly with seemingly no reaction.

 

What made Brendon break the silence was when his phone lit up with an incoming call.  “Uh, Sp-Spencer’s calling me, should—should I answer?”

 

Ryan shrugged.  “That’s up to you.  You don’t have to, but you can . . .”

 

Brendon hesitated only a moment longer before struggling with the touchscreen on his phone to answer the call.  “Hello?”

 

It wasn’t hard for Ryan to hear the series of exclamations Spencer was immediately throwing at Brendon.  “Thank god you picked up! Are you okay? Where are you? Jon and I were so worried, you weren’t answering, Ryan wasn’t either, and—”

 

Brendon looked over at Ryan with wide eyes, and Ryan could see him silently pleading for help.  Ryan could only imagine how overwhelming all of this must have been for Brendon. He reached over to take the phone from Brendon’s willing hands before Spencer could get any farther.

 

“Hey, Spence, it’s Ryan,” he said, cutting him off.

 

“Ryan, finally!  What the hell is going on?  Is Brendon okay?”

 

“Yeah, he’s okay, he’s not . . . physically injured.”

 

“What about the baby?”

 

“She’s okay, just . . . how did you know something happened?  We haven’t talked to  _ anyone _ yet.”

 

That riled Spencer up even more.  “It’s all over Twitter that Brendon got rushed to the hospital in the middle of the day today, and nobody really knows what happened, but the rumor’s out there that he had a miscarriage, and you didn’t even call us!”

 

“I left my phone at home,” Ryan excused.  “And Brendon . . . he hasn’t really been in a condition to talk.”

 

“What happened to him?  You’re sure he’s okay now?”

 

“He fainted.  And hit his head.  And, uh, he does have a bit of a head injury, but . . .”  Ryan eyed the boy next to him, trying to figure out how to most delicately handle the conversation at hand.  “I don’t know, it’s complicated,” Ryan said.

 

“What does that mean?  Listen—which hospital is he in?  We’ll be there in thirty minutes, wherever you are, and you can tell us everything then.”

 

“We’re actually on our way home, um, just give us a couple hours, alright?  Come over for dinner or something, we just need a little more time,” Ryan said.

 

Spencer sighed, then said, “Okay, we’ll be there.  Go—go take care of Brendon. Tell him Jon and I are glad he’s okay.”

 

Ryan affirmed that he would, and promptly hung up.

 

He handed the phone back to Brendon, who set it back in his lap.  “That was Spencer . . . Spencer Smith, right?” Brendon asked.

 

“Yes.  He was your best man at our wedding,” Ryan added, just on an impulsive urge.  As if that was the most important thing for Brendon to know about Spencer.

 

After a beat of silence, Brendon asked, “Who was yours?”

 

“Jon.  Jon Walker.”

 

“Who—who is that?”

 

Ryan gulped.  He had so much explaining to do for Brendon, he was undeniably overwhelmed.  “He’s, uh, Spencer’s husband,” Ryan started. He suspected there to be more questions to follow after the next statement he made.  “He plays bass in our band.”

 

“We’re still in a band?”

 

“Yeah.  The same band, actually.”

 

“Oh,” Brendon said, and Ryan could detect something in his voice that sounded a lot like disappointment.

 

“We’ve done pretty well,” Ryan continued.  “We have a lot of fans, and we make enough money from music to support ourselves.”  He wanted to ease Brendon into the idea of their lives together, if it was possible.  They weren’t necessarily the most conventional people in the world, so he felt he had to be careful in what he told Brendon, in order to not say anything that would shock him too much more.  It was hard enough for him to take in, all at once, that he was married, pregnant, and estranged from his parents.

 

“So . . . I don’t have another job? And you don’t, either?”

 

“No.  The band takes up a lot of our time, and we make enough money that it’s not an issue anymore,” Ryan attempted to reassure him.  Brendon went quiet again, and Ryan took that lapse to tell him, “Spencer and Jon want to see us. See you, mostly.”

 

Brendon inhaled sharply.  “I don’t remember them. I mean, I know Spencer, a little bit, but I—I’m just scared.  I’m really scared.”

 

“They don’t have to come today.  I can call Spencer back and tell him.  It’s more important for you to take care of yourself right now.  They’re just worried.”

 

Brendon nodded, staring out the window.  “Will you tell them about what happened? And that I’m—I’m okay, really.  I don’t want people I don’t even know to be worrying about me,” Brendon said.

 

Ryan thought of the fans and nearly laughed.  He knew that if he opened any of their social media at the moment, it would be flooded with strangers probing for information about Brendon’s condition.  Way more people cared about Brendon than he realized. Even after ten years to adjust, Ryan could still barely comprehend it.

 

“I’ll call him back later,” Ryan confirmed.

 

For now, Ryan could watch Brendon, take note of all his body language, where they were sitting stopped in traffic.  He shifted in his seat, trying to pull the end of the dress down far enough to cover his knees. After a few more moments of the car slowly inching forward, Brendon said, “LA.  We live in LA. When—when did I leave Vegas?”

 

“The year before we got married.  So, um, five years ago, or maybe a little before that.”

 

“What took us so long?”

 

Ryan shrugged.  “After you and Spence graduated, we weren’t really home much at all, but once we slowed down a little bit . . . we all decided to move to California.”

 

The traffic didn’t lessen at all until the point where Ryan turned in to the parking garage underneath their apartment building.  He pulled in the designated spot, and hurried around the car to open the passenger side door. Brendon gave him a sort of puzzled look at the action, and bowed his head to say, “Thank you,” as he got out.  For a fleeting moment, an image of Brendon holding a baby carrier crossed Ryan’s mind, but he quickly shook it off to lead Brendon up to their destination.

 

It came crashing down on Ryan, with Brendon standing silently next to him in the elevator, how scared he really was about the whole situation.  If things were to stay how they were, with Brendon afraid and distrusting, seeing Ryan like a stranger instead of his spouse; if Brendon’s memories never came back, if the world didn’t go back to the way it once was—Ryan couldn’t imagine how any of their future plans would ever come into fruition.  They were supposed to be bringing a baby into the world together in less than three months, but Ryan didn’t know how they could possibly pull off raising a child in Brendon’s current state . . .

 

Ryan’s brain chose to shut off that train of thought as soon as he felt a lump form in his throat.  He was getting too far ahead of himself. He had to worry about explaining things to Brendon at the moment, show him the way to their door.  At some point, Brendon’s memory had to come back, anyway, Ryan decided. He could only hope it would come sooner rather than later.

 

Ryan eagerly awaited Brendon’s reaction as they entered their apartment together.  An exciting glimmer of hope came over him, that maybe Brendon would see the home where they spent so much time together and the memories would suddenly come flooding back to him.  At the same time, he tried to take it all in from the perspective of someone who had never seen it before, tried to remember the first time he and Brendon had viewed it with a real estate agent.

 

That immediately made Ryan critical of the place where they lived.  They hadn’t cleaned lately (or had a cleaning  _ done _ —housekeeping was a luxury they often took advantage of now), and some of their things were just strewn about in an unorganized fashion.  For instance, one of Ryan’s hoodies was laying across the couch, the blankets were unfolded, and paperwork from doctor visits was piled in no particular order on their kitchen counter.  Brendon had always liked things to be neat and tidied, it was something that helped with his anxiety, and Ryan felt self-conscious, in a way, that their apartment didn’t look perfect at the moment.  If Brendon wasn’t going to remember things, Ryan at least wanted him to approve of the way they had been living.

 

No matter what Brendon thought of the apartment, there were undeniable upsides to it that were obvious upon entering.  The view out their ceiling-to-floor length windows of the city, for one, was amazing. The shiny grand piano around the corner of the room was quite impressive, too, Ryan thought, especially for a musician like Brendon.  And even though their fireplace went unused most of the time, it was still a nice touch, and the mantel was a convenient place to display some of their music awards.

 

“This is where we’ve lived?  For five years?” Brendon asked.

 

“Three,” Ryan corrected.  “We had a smaller place before, but you liked this.”

 

“Have we been planning on staying here?”

 

“Yeah, we’re not moving anytime soon.  Why?”

 

“I just . . . if I’m going to have a baby, I thought I’d be somewhere nicer, in a house, at least.”

 

“Oh,” Ryan said, unable to hide his disappointment at Brendon’s response.

 

“I mean, it’s  _ nice _ , like, for just you, or something, but it’s not . . . family-oriented.”

 

Ryan wasn’t sure what else Brendon could want, or what he was expecting.  Their two bedrooms were enough for them and a new baby, and it wasn’t like they had anything dangerous out in the open or anything.  In all the time Ryan knew Brendon, he had never mentioned wanting a house, because that meant moving out of the city, and suburban life always meant retirement to both of them.

 

“We’ve done things to prepare for the baby,” Ryan tried, not wanting to be argumentative.  After all, Brendon didn’t remember the choices he had made three years ago, or any of the events that led up to him making those choices.

 

“Like what?  Looked for a new place?  Tried to find real jobs? This just doesn’t seem like a way to—to realistically raise a child.”  He seemed exasperated, and brushed a hand over his midsection as if to emphasize his point.

 

That wasn’t something Ryan could shrug off.  “You don’t understand. We—we made it, B. Our band is . . .  _ really _ popular.”  Brendon gave him a skeptical look, so Ryan continued, “Neither of us have done anything but music in almost ten years.  We’ve put out six albums, three went platinum, we’ve headlined more festivals and tours than I can count, gotten a Grammy, you’ve won best vocalist at one awards show or another every year lately, and if you turn on the radio right now, there’s a good chance you’ll hear one of our songs.  This is our life now. We’re usually either in the studio or touring, and the only reason we’re not right now is so we can focus on our baby.”

 

Brendon looked at the ground and gulped, then shook his head.  “No, that can’t be right.” He bravely made eye contact with Ryan for the first time since they left the hospital.  “You’re lying. I’m not a singer,” he said, with a self-satisfied grin, like he was proud to have caught a flaw in Ryan’s story.

 

“Yes, you are.  You are. You’re a beautiful vocalist, B.  We—we’d be nowhere without you.”

 

“That’s not true.  You sing. I just . . . play guitar, and you still do that most of the time,” Brendon said.  He seemed to have lost the momentary confidence he had. Ryan couldn’t imagine that he humbled Brendon with a mere compliment, but that appeared to be what had happened.

 

“Not anymore,” Ryan replied, and managed to smile a little bit.  Things had gone in their favor, in terms of music, and he wanted Brendon to see how well off they were now.  Although he wasn’t one to brag, and it did feel weird to just be listing their accomplishments, he was proud of the work they’d done.  He knew Brendon was, too, but obviously couldn’t remember anything that lead him to feel that way.

 

“So, at some point I became the singer for our band, and we got famous, so we moved to LA and got married, and now we live in a small apartment and we’re about to have a baby?” Brendon asked.

 

“That’s right,” Ryan said encouragingly.

 

“Sorry . . . It’s just a lot.  And it . . . doesn’t feel real.”

 

Ryan, for what felt like the millionth time that day, had to suppress the urge to reach out for Brendon, to hold him close.  As small as it sounded, Ryan felt lost as to how to comfort Brendon without that very capability. “It’s okay,” Ryan said, instead.  “I can show you some of our music, later. Whenever you’re ready. And, I’ll, um, show you around, if you want.”

 

“Okay,” Brendon agreed, turning to look out at the living room.

 

“Okay.  Okay, good,” Ryan said, and was relieved to turn around and break some of the tension their conversation held.  He hated the feeling of having to tip-toe his way around talking to Brendon. “The living room,” Ryan said, gesturing to the open area, “and the kitchen,” he continued, pointing behind them.  “As you can see,” he mumbled. The pressure and awkwardness in the air was awful. Ryan could hardly stand to open his own mouth.

 

He showed Brendon to the nook behind the fireplace, along the window wall, that held their grand piano.  “This is where you write, most of the time,” Ryan said.

 

“Where I write?” Brendon asked.  “What about you?”

 

“Well, I write here, too, I guess, but you . . . you’re a creature of habit, and this is where you always get the most work done,” Ryan said.

 

“Sounds like you know me better than I know myself,” Brendon said, almost absently, but the expression on his face held nothing but concern.  His fingers brushed over the black fallboard, and he said, “I’ve always wanted a grand piano.”

 

Ryan laughed, though it was sad.  “I know,” he said, because he did, and had been hearing it from Brendon until the day Brendon came home to find that Ryan had bought the instrument for him.  Years ago, of course. “You can play it, if you want,” Ryan invited, stepping back.

 

“Maybe later,” Brendon said.  “I—I can’t think about it right now.

 

Ryan nodded and moved to leave, but Brendon lingered. He seemed lost in thought, looking at the piano, so Ryan waited.  Brendon could be  _ remembering _ , Ryan thought, with a dash of hope.  After so much time passed of Brendon remaining silent, though, Ryan strongly doubted that was the case.  He cleared his throat. “Are you ready to see the rest?”

 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Brendon said.

 

The plan was to lead Brendon to their nursery-in-progress.  Brendon stopped before then, in the hallway, staring at the walls.  By now, Ryan was blind to it, but Brendon was in awe over the gold and platinum records framed and hanging.  He studied them, reading the names of their albums and taking in the artwork, decorated with his own face. The certifications were a big accomplishment, and Ryan hoped seeing them would make Brendon somewhat happier; maybe he would feel more impressed with the life they had made for themselves.

 

“These gold ones are our most recent two, but I’m sure they’ll go platinum with a little more time,” Ryan said confidently.  It was an important first step for Ryan to build them up, to do everything he could to try to convince Brendon their careers in music were sustainable.  Respectable.

 

“How did this happen?” Brendon breathed, his eyes never leaving the record displays.

 

“You,” Ryan gushed.  “You, and all the hard work you’ve put into music, and your talent, and your looks . . .”  Ryan knew their success was attributed partially to sheer luck, but he truly believed it was primarily Brendon.

 

Brendon didn’t seem to have even heard him at all.  “This is amazing, this is everything I’ve wanted. This is a dream, I . . .”  He looked over at Ryan, with a half-grin on his face and the same light in his eyes as when Ryan first met him, when Brendon was eager to do anything if it meant he got to play music.  “You said we’ve toured, too?”

 

Ryan nodded.  “Plenty. Almost more than we’ve been at home.”

 

“We—we really made it!  I can’t believe it,” Brendon said, but then his excitement seemed to take a decline.  “I don’t. This—this is great, if it’s true, but, it isn’t  _ me _ .  Ryan, you seem like a . . . nice guy, but I’m not . . . I’m not this person—” he gestured to the album covers at hand—”I’m not a real musician, I’m not supposed to be writing albums, or touring, and I shouldn’t be married to you, or—or pregnant.  This isn’t me.”

 

Ryan leaned back against the wall, settling in for what he predicted to be a long conversation.  “And who do you think you’re supposed to be, right now?”

 

“Well, I’m eighteen.  Eighteen. I should be going to school, going to church.  Trying to figure out where to go for college. And I would have played in your band for a while, but . . . in ten years, in 2014 . . . I’d be married.  To a woman. And I would already have a family, and I would have finished school and gotten a normal job, and lived in a nice house near my parents.”

 

That vision sounded nothing like Brendon.  It sounded like Mormon-conservative nonsense he was just regurgitating; meaningless.  Ryan didn’t buy it. “Is that what you want?” Ryan asked. “Because I’ve never known you to dream that way.”

 

Brendon looked down and shrugged.

 

“You’ve known you were gay since you were fourteen.  And you stopped believing in God way before then. I don’t think you would be any more happy with what you described than what you have now.”

 

“How do you know those things?” Brendon asked, quiet.

 

“We’re married,” Ryan reminded him.

 

“I would never tell anyone I don’t believe in God.”

 

“You’ve told everyone,” Ryan said.  “You never deny it when people ask.”

 

“My mom and dad,” Brendon said, “is that why they don’t talk to me anymore?”

 

“Mostly, yeah.  When you said you wanted to leave the church . . . that was the final straw.”

 

Brendon had the worried look on his face again, like he might start crying again, and Ryan felt awful for him.  “That’s what I was always afraid of,” Brendon whispered. “There’s more to it than that, though, right?”

 

“Yes,” Ryan said, but that was all.  At the hospital, Brendon had said he didn’t want to know about what happened with his parents, so Ryan definitely wasn’t about to bombard him with all the details he knew at once.

 

“I’m going to need your help,” Brendon said, after a moment.

 

Ryan nodded.  “With what, exactly?”

 

“Figuring out how to explain to my parents who I am now.”

 

Ryan couldn’t stand to be the bearer of bad news yet again; he couldn’t take breaking Brendon’s heart even more today.  If he were to be straightforward about it, he would tell Brendon that his parents would be entirely unresponsive to him, that they had no desire to ever see Brendon again, that they would probably never be involved in his life again.  But Ryan couldn’t find it in himself to kill the innocence Brendon suddenly had. He would find out for himself, Ryan supposed, and when he felt the most hurt and rejected, like his parents always made him feel, Ryan would be there for him to turn to for comfort, to make him feel as loved and wanted as he deserved.

 

All he could do was hope he’d still be the one Brendon would come to.


End file.
